Jibbsfest: What Can I Say
by jibbsloversunited
Summary: "It's like trying to spin the world the other way."  A new round of Jibbsfest.
1. Intro

Welcome to another round of Jibbsfest! The prompts this time were:

- "It's like trying to spin the world the other way."  
- A screwdriver (alcoholic or otherwise)  
- Fornell  
- A full moon

Disclaimer: We own nothing; I own nothing except my little rust-bucket of a car.

If anyone is interested in participating a future round, feel free to introduce yourself on the forum (Forums – TV – NCIS – Jenny&Gibbs – Jibbsfest) or PM me (MissJayne).


	2. Full Moon Madness fredesrojo

"**Full Moon Madness"**

**By: fredesrojo**

**Rating: T**

_Disclaimer: Not mine, obviously. I just borrow them to fix what I dislike in the show. :P_

NCIS Director Jenny Shepard blinked tiredly at the stack of case files sitting in front of her, letting out a depressed sigh. She _hated_ paperwork. What in the hell had possessed her to take this damn job, if she knew it involved so much paperwork?

Oh, _right_. Her five-point plan.

She grumbled under her breath briefly, seriously considering finding a time machine to go tell her twenty-something year old self in the past that the mystical "five-point plan" was really a horrible, terrible, very bad, no good idea. Partially because of all of this ridiculous paperwork she was now required to do as Director, but… mostly because it required leaving a certain blue-eyed, silver-haired NCIS Agent by the name of Jethro.

Jenny rubbed her hands over her eyelids, shrugging her shoulders in resignation. Oh, well. What was another Friday night at the office? It's not like she had a life at home anyways, nobody to come home to, just more paperwork.

Her green eyes blinked back open, her vision blurring for a second before focusing on the glass sitting in front of her, full of an intoxicatingly wonderful-smelling blend of vodka and orange juice. A screwdriver. Oooh, goody!

Wait a minute…since when did she have a screwdriver on her desk?

"What the…?"

"Took you long enough." One blue-eyed, silver-haired NCIS Agent Jethro Gibbs' gruff voice broke through the silence in her office, making her jump a foot and a half in the air, knocking her knees hard on the underside of her desk.

"Ouch, dammit!" Jenny blew her bangs out of her face, glaring at the silver-haired agent in front of her. "Jethro, what the hell are you doing here?"

"It's Friday."

"And…" She raised her eyebrows at him quizzically. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes. "Back…then, we used to go to the bar for drinks every Friday. You looked stressed today, and I figured…well, it couldn't hurt to bring the bar to you."

"Yeah, well, dealing with Fornell and the F.B.I. trying to steal one of our cases is never fun on the best of days." Jenny eyed the drink suspiciously, glancing back up at him. "And you just decided to bring me a screwdriver out of the goodness of your heart because you saw that I looked _stressed_?" She let out a very unladylike snort, shaking her head. "Yeah, right. What did you do this time?"

"Nothing!"

"Right. And I'm a monkey's uncle." She picked up the drink, taking a sip as she leveled a look at him over the rim of the glass. "What. Did. You. Do."

"I didn't do anything, Jen!" His eyes flashed with a slightly wounded look. "Can't a guy just come and have a few drinks with his old partner?"

"Sure, a guy could. _You_, on the other hand, don't. You being voluntarily nice to someone is like trying to the spin the world the other way."

"I'm hurt, Jen." Jethro set a hand against his heart, pouting slightly. His blue eyes widened in an impressive puppy dog look, seriously messing with her vow to stay irritated with him.

She sighed, conceding his point with a small shrug. "_Alright_, fine, so maybe you did actually do something nice for once." She took a sip of her drink again, nodding appreciatively. "Thank you."

He smiled briefly, settling in comfortably in the chair, a tumbler of bourbon in his own hands. "No problem. You looked like you needed a break."

Jenny snorted briefly, rolling her eyes. "What I _need_ is another me. God…look at all this stupid paperwork. I _hate_ paperwork. Why is it that every Marine in a ten-mile radius of the Navy Yard decided to give into their murderous impulses this week?"

Jethro shrugged, blue eyes flickering over the pile of files on her desk. "Abby said something about the full moon."

"What?"

He shrugged. "Wasn't really listening, she was off on a ramble. Something about the full moon affecting crime rates in big cities."

"So everybody just goes mental during the full moon."

He nodded, smirking slightly. A twinkle of…something flashed through his blue eyes; amusement, maybe? "She said something else, too."

Jenny narrowed her eyes, focusing on the growing smirk that threatened to morph into a full-blown grin on his face. He was clearly up to _something_. "Oh?" Damn. She'd taken his bait.

Jethro nodded slowly, making a show of swirling the bourbon in his glass. "Well, she was just telling me a few of the other things the full moon is linked to…" He trailed off suggestively, his smirk widening.

"Did she now? What else is it linked to?" Dammit, she'd fallen for it again. Damn sexy smirk of his, pulling her into his little schemes.

He shrugged, still staring down at his bourbon as he talked. "Oh, quite a few things. Crime Rates, werewolves, the tides, and…" He trailed off, his dark blue eyes snapping up to meet her gaze. "Well, there's this other thing, too."

Jenny swallowed, taking a calming drink of the screwdriver. God, how had she forgotten how sexy his eyes were? It was a damn good thing she was still sitting behind her desk. That look in his eyes was making her knees weak. She fought the impulse to lunge across her desk and take him right there, deciding to play dumb instead.

She tilted her head to the side coquettishly, her green eyes darkening slightly. "What other thing?"

Jethro's smirk transformed into an amused grin as he set the tumbler down, standing to walk around her desk, invading her personal space. His voice was a low growl, roughened by the alcohol and possibly something else. "Oh, I think you know." His eyes, cocky and dark with amusement, bored into her as he leaned over her chair, setting his arms on the armrests.

Jenny gave him an innocent look, fighting off the rush of arousal his voice brought on. "Do I?"

The grin widened as he leaned in, his hot breath washing over her neck. "Yeah, I think you do, Jen." His gruff voice sent a wave of chills down her spine. She could almost feel his smirk against her neck.

She let out a soft moan as his lips ghosted across the juncture of her neck and shoulder, unconsciously tilting her head back. "Mmm…I don't know, Jethro…I think you might just have to show me."

Sometime later, they lay together on the floor of her office, their legs intertwined. A light blanket found in her desk drawer was draped across both of their bodies. Jenny shifted slightly, turning to lie against his side, her arm flung across his broad chest. "Damn, that was good."

Jethro laughed deep in his chest, wrapping an arm around her loosely, stroking his hand up and down her back. "So, was I able to ah, _show_ you?"

Jenny smirked, moving to straddle him, the blanket slipping down to pool around her waist leaving both of them bare from the waist up. "Oh, I think I might need a little refresher course."

His answering grin was amused, bordering on lecherous as he wrapped strong arms around her waist, upsetting her position to pin her under his lean body. He lowered his mouth to her ear, nipping lightly at her earlobe as he spoke, his voice back to that sexy growl she loved. "Thought you were a fast learner, Jen?"

Jenny pressed a kiss to his jaw, hooking a leg around his waist. "Hm. Still don't think I'm getting it."

Jethro smirked, pulling back to look in her eyes, darkened to forest green with arousal. "I'll just have to make sure to keep reminding you then. Wouldn't want you to forget."


	3. If These Walls Could Talk MrsScott323

**Title: If these walls could talk.. **

**Author: Mrs. Scott323 **

**Rating: K+ (I think) **

**Disclaimer: don't own a thing. Except the laptop I'm typing on. **

They would tell you about the couple that lived here first. Their children had already flown the nest, but their parents still didn't feel like moving to a smaller home, more suited for their elderly needs. She loved her garden too much, and he loved the opportunity to spend time on his favourite hobby: making wooden toys. For their future grandchildren, and for the kids in the neighborhood. The basement was his sanctuary, wooden toys, not yet varnished or still drying adorned the shelves there.

Then they would tell you about the many visitors it had after the couple passed away, trying to find a home for their family. And finally, after five months, there was a young couple willing to take the chance. After two years a baby's crying bounced off the walls. It wasn't something they were used to, but after a while, those sobs turned into an adorable laugh. This, the walls approved of. And the love of the small family filled the house and made it such a wonderful home. Until that fateful day. A letter arrived and the husband and father was called away to do his duty for his country. The baby girl, almost grown up in her own opinion, shed bitter tears. Pleading for her father to stay. Even if she did knew he had to go.

They would tell you about the strange people that surrounded the house. Making adjustments to the walls, providing much needed security for the girl and her mother. It was the only reason the house hadn't protested when those hammers, drills and screwdrivers made contact with the walls.

The walls would tell you how strange it was, the quiet after ten years of laughter. The husband had returned, battered and bruised. But his child and wife never did.

They would tell you about the quiet years that followed those first quiet weeks. Sometimes he drank, sometimes he hid away in the basement, and sometimes he didn't come home at all. There were several new women, but none of them remained long. No new love and laughter to fill the house. His heart was too broken, the house too much filled with memories of his previous life for them to compete with. It looked like he tried to find a replacement, the walls observing as he failed time after time.

They would tell you that there were friends, co-workers that filled the house from time to time. One friend visited more often than others. He brought one of the women back with him too. And even the walls could have told him she would suck him dry. The imprint of the number nine iron was still in the foyer. Their occupant argued with the man often, but let him stay in the house too, after the woman left again.

There was another woman too. This one seemed more suited for the man. She visited once or twice. But nothing ever happened within these walls. When he burned a letter and their pictures from a foreign place. All but one. The walls knew that there was no hope.

And so it continued, year after year, they would tell you. Seasons came and went, and he just buried himself in his work, and in his misery. Not that he was home that often, but when he was, casefiles were cluttered in the study and in the basement.

The walls would mention their surprise when a familiar woman re-entered the house. More mature, but it was still the woman from the burnt pictures. And the single picture on the bottom of his nightstand drawer. Still the same stubbornness, and the same tension between the two. Time had changed so much, for both of them. And as she visited more often, the lingering looks reappeared, no longer buried behind an indifferent mask. If there was a way to turn back time, the walls imagined these two would love the opportunity. Things could have been so much different if one of them had just given in. But it was like trying to spin the world the other way, it cannot be done. Not for anyone or anything in the world. Sometimes they were so close, caught up in an old memory, sometimes fighting with their faces so close together it was hard to believe that nothing ever happened.

Then for the first time in years the house was closed off again. This time he left with bruises. The woman still visited from time to time. Falling asleep on his bed, taking in his scent.

There was another woman, one who'd been here before, this time she hid away in the basement. A safe haven until the man returned. They had heard her calling him. pleading him to help her. And he came back, a little different, but still the same man.

The walls noticed his new family, his work family, looking up to him as a father figure, as a friend.

One full moon the door opened, two people stumbled in. the man, and the woman, whose scent still lingered in the bedroom. There were kisses and touches, unlike the walls had observed for years. When the bedroom door slammed shut, her laughter bounced off the walls. And for the first time in years, the walls knew the house would be a family's home again.


	4. Left Unfinished Pandora of Ithilien

**Title: Left Unfinished**

**Author: Pandora of Ithilien**

Why did she feel like this had happened before? It didn't make sense, but then, nothing about her relationship with Jethro Gibbs did. Jenny sighed as she sat at the bar, staring down into the drink she'd ordered. Screwdrivers weren't her usual, but she didn't want bourbon tonight. Jethro was already dominating her thoughts; she didn't need to indulge in his drink of choice as well.

She still remembered the first time she'd met him, those blue eyes seeming to stare right through her. And her first thought had been, _Here we go again_. But that made no sense. He didn't remind her of anyone from her past, he was someone completely new. So why, why did he feel so familiar? And why was she so angry with him?

The anger hadn't lasted long; it had been an odd reaction that had faded as she got to know him. His near-obsession with the job was something she respected, except, sometimes... Sometimes it bothered her and she didn't know why. She wanted to tell him there was more to life than work, but then, who was she to talk?

But what really frightened her, what really angered her, was the distance. She could remember Marseilles, falling into bed together, laughing and joking. It had all been so simple then, they'd been so close. And now, he pushed her away, he didn't talk to her about anything but work. They were still lovers, but it felt like the physical was all they had left. Where was the fun, the laughter?

"_That's such a small thing to you, isn't it..." _

"_I think there are more important things, yes." _

She shook her head, harder than she meant to. That was another thing. Since she met Jethro, she'd been having the oddest dreams. Just flashes, a man she didn't know and she herself as someone she didn't know, and the only thing familiar was that the man had Jethro's eyes. Eyes that could look into your soul, eyes that used to freeze her out with indifference and were doing the same once again.

She didn't even realize that her train of thought didn't seem exactly logical. All she could think was: _Not again. Good God, I can't do this again._ And she never even asked herself what the first time had been.

She regretted the Dear John letter, but at the same time, it was better for both of them, wasn't it? Somehow she knew, if she stayed now that he was shutting her out, they'd end up hating each other.

When he met Jenny, Jethro's first thought had been, inexplicably, that she ought to be a brunette. Something about those green eyes, slicing through him, and the confident smile, made him feel like her red waves ought to have been darker. It made no sense, of course, and he all but forgot about it as time went on.

She wormed her way past his defenses, quietly and naturally, as though she was meant to do so. And he didn't want to fight her; he just knew that would hurt, that pushing her away would be a terrible mistake. Until the job when she'd had to seduce a suspected terrorist. He knew it was part of the act, but something about the man – tall, dark-haired, scruffy, and a playboy – set his teeth on edge. He watched her chatting and laughing with him, and couldn't shake the sense of deja vu. She was going to rip him apart, if not with that man then with someone like him. After all, it wouldn't be the first time. And he wasn't thinking of his first ex-wife.

So he pushed her away, and when she left him there was a part that was savagely pleased – he'd been right, hadn't he? She'd walked away from him, and he'd never given her a reason. If she didn't like him holding her at arms' length, she'd given up instead of making him change his mind. And it was for the best. That was what he told himself.

He was banging on her door, and Jenny rolled her eyes. "Jethro, it's done. I can't change it now," she informed him as she opened the door and he stalked past her into her foyer.

"You gave _my_ case to Fornell, Jenny."

"It belonged to the FBI first, Jethro. They've been tracking the killer for six years, long before he killed an Academy cadet. They have the right to it, and you know it."

He didn't answer, and she rolled her eyes. "Since you're here, you might as well have a drink," she said, going into the study and opening the liquor cabinet. He followed her silently, watching as she closed the curtains, hiding the full moon from view. She had the radio playing softly – country music, he noted, and wondered when she'd started listening to that.

Taking the glass she offered, he nodded toward the papers spread across her desk. "Don't you do enough of that at the office?" He couldn't argue with her, but he didn't want to admit she'd been right, so he just changed the subject.

"No, not really," she said ruefully. "And I guess it's better than being shot at."

"Ah, that's not so bad," he said, shrugging. "And paperwork's less interesting."

"One way to look at it."

They stood in silence for a while, drinking bourbon and saying nothing, but the silence wasn't comfortable. There were things unspoken, things they usually tried not to think about or acknowledge, but...

Away from the single light of the desk lamp, the room was shadowy, and there it was again. For both of them, that odd sense of deja vu, and when Jenny spoke, her words shouldn't have made sense but they did.

"Why do we do this? Why do we keep... We keep pushing each other away, but we can't actually escape each other. Why can't we just give in?"

"You're the one who left. You're always the one who turns away."

"And you always think it's my fault. But you pushed me to it, if you would just let me in I wouldn't run away anymore. Didn't you ever realize that?"

"You could have told me that."

"Would it have mattered?"

"Does it matter now?"

He met her gaze and, again, had one of those moments, those flashes that made no sense.

_She was staring at him from a high window, and the face was different, but the eyes... The eyes were the same, and as he was led away – he was going to die, somehow he remembered that too – he couldn't look away from her. They'd never been happy, he'd hated her for most of their time together, and yet... He couldn't turn from that look in her eyes._

The look was the same now. He couldn't hide from it, couldn't look away. She was right, they couldn't escape each other, maybe because they'd never fixed what went wrong before. "We weren't right, it wasn't right..." he said.

"But we can't just leave, it doesn't work. It's like... like trying to spin the world the other way," she said quietly. "So now what?"

He stepped forward, fingers brushing her cheek lightly. "Maybe this time we make it work. Make us work."

And the pattern changed then, the business left unfinished and cut short by the stroke of an axe began again, and this time they weren't just going to let it fall apart. They'd done that once and it had got them nowhere. They tried to escape it, but it wasn't going to happen. So really, what other choice was there?


	5. What Can I Say MissJayne

**Title: What Can I Say**

**Author: MissJayne**

**Rating: K+**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs did not usually find himself driving aimlessly through the streets of Washington, DC. But tonight, not even his precious boat could calm him down.

Only one person could wind him up like this – his former partner, ex-lover, current boss. A redhead as stubborn as he was, with a temper which was quick to rise at the moment, and the skills of an aggravating politician. Their present feud was over a case she had handed over to the FBI without bothering to consult with him first.

Although he privately agreed with part of her argument – why bother to consult with him when she knew he would protest?

Try as he might, he couldn't hate Jenny. He still loved her; she still occupied a space in his heart. He was relatively confident she felt the same way; hence their slow dance around the matter. He didn't want to rush and screw it up or scare her away. They weren't going anywhere anyway. Despite their disagreements, he had been supplying her morning coffee for the last few months and providing take-out when they both worked late. They both knew it was leading somewhere.

He sighed; he couldn't stay mad at her for long when all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and ravish her. Turning right one final time, he found himself on her street. Pulling up outside her townhouse, he turned the engine off and tried to work up the nerve to go inside. He certainly wasn't going to apologize when this was all her fault, but what else could he say if he barged in?

The full moon lit up the street and he observed Hector standing guard. Jenny was probably asleep now anyway, unless she was burning the midnight oil. His legendary gut began to trouble him and he left the car, walking slowly but purposefully over to Jenny's security detail. Nothing could be wrong – she should be tucked up in bed – but it wouldn't hurt to check in with Hector.

To his credit, the other man did not bat an eyelid when Gibbs stepped up beside him, pausing only to glance up at her bedroom window and determine the light was off. "Slow night?" he asked.

Gibbs smirked. "Just wanted to check up on her," he admitted. "Something doesn't feel right."

Hector nodded in agreement. "I know. I double-checked the house when she went to bed an hour ago and it was clear. Still, something feels off."

Three rapid shots, fired without a pause, came from the house.

The two men simultaneously drew their weapons and charged into the house. They found Jenny in her bedroom, gun drawn and standing over one very dead intruder.

* * *

Tobias Fornell had not been happy to be woken up by his cell phone ringing incessantly. By the time Jethro had briefed him, he was fully dressed and halfway to Director Shepard's residence, still not happy but this time it was directed towards the idiot who had broken into her abode.

He considered both Jethro and Jenny to be his friends, two of his very small trusted circle. The incident would have to be investigated by an agency outside NCIS and they clearly trusted him to do a good job.

So far, everything matched Jenny's statement. She had woken up, heard a noise, seen a figure holding a gun coming closer to her from the moonlight that had come through a gap in her drapes, and fired three times. The intruder had been dead before he'd hit the floor. Fornell reminded himself that the woman was a better shot than he was and to never, ever piss her off whenever she had a gun close to hand. Surely it was Jethro's influence that had led to her sleeping with a gun under her pillow.

His two friends had left after giving their statements. They had gone back to Gibbs' house, a place with yet more deadly weapons. Only an idiot would follow. The house he was in was currently full of forensics people, only two of whom he knew. Ducky and Abby were examining the body; Fornell had agreed to keep NCIS involved.

"Do we know who he is yet?" he demanded. It had been an hour and they were still calling him 'John Doe'.

Ducky sighed. "Jennifer didn't recognize him. Poor girl. She'll have trouble sleeping after this –"

"Ducky," Fornell growled.

Abby decided to save the Scotsman from being the second corpse on Jenny's bedroom floor that night. "The portable fingerprint scanner didn't get a hit so I'm going to be trawling through the various DNA databases for a name."

"How long?" he inquired, frustrated.

"At least twenty four hours," she informed him cheerfully. "I need to take the sample, perform PCR, then electrophoresis, then –"

"I don't have a day," he cut her off, aware she would talk all night if he let her.

She rolled her eyes. "Science cannot be rushed. It's like trying to spin the world the other way."

Fornell decided to leave them to it and harass someone else. Someone had to have information for him.

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs took a good long look at his spare room. It wasn't often he had visitors and this one was particularly special. Content his guest would be comfortable, he made his way down the stairs towards his basement.

She had barely spoken since he had burst into her bedroom. Apart from her statement, which she had had to repeat several times, she had been silent. He wasn't sure if it was shock or something worse, but, unless she spoke to him before dawn, he was taking her to see Ducky in the morning. Despite his gnawing worries, he wasn't prepared to push her. He knew she still disliked killing a person, even if it was in self defense.

The basement was empty. His heart in his mouth (and desperately trying to work out how to explain _losing her_ to Fornell), he searched the house rapidly, darting out the back door when he saw it was ajar. There! She stood in the back garden, illuminated by the full moon. He didn't think she'd ever looked so beautiful.

"You should have taken a gun," he called out to her as he approached. "Someone tried to kill you earlier."

She held up a screwdriver; he couldn't help but laugh, wondering exactly what she had picked up around Ziva. He slipped his arms around her waist and held her, her back against his chest. "Sorry," she replied. "I needed some air."

"Practically gave me a heart attack," he mumbled into her hair.

They stood like that for a while, content to let time pass. Eventually he whispered into her ear, "I've missed you."

She turned in his arms until she faced him. "I've missed you too," she answered.

He searched her eyes carefully. "If this is just because of what happened tonight," he began.

She cut him off. "Only because it reminded me we _don't_ necessarily have all the time in the world."

They smiled at each other and he leant forward to press his lips to hers. There was nothing else that needed to be said.


End file.
